Of sick and poo and wishlists

Yesterday, back at work after the dentist (of which more later), the local anaesthetic started to wear off, and I started to feel nauseous. Which I thought was a reaction to the anaesthetic, and would pass, no bother, if I had a drink of water, and gave it ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes later, collapsed over the toilet, mid-vomit, and mid-deciding that it might be quite nice to die, I came to the realisation it might not be a little reaction, or if it was a reaction, it might not be very little.

Someone lovely called me a minicab (Youre a minicab! dun-ptsch), and after sicking once more, I stumbled out of the office, looking drunk and feeling like a body-fluid-timebomb.

I did mean to mention to the minicab driver that I was feeling unwell, so he should be gentle – but the minicab, in his minicabbish way, had the music too loud to hear my gurgling whisper, and drove like a maniac through the back streets – the back streets with the most speedbumps.

Somehow I managed to make it almost home before I shouted Sick! Scuse! Stopsick! STOP! SIGugguggle, and toppled sideways out of the hastily halting car, throwing up in the gutter and the bag Id brought along for that exact purpose.

400 metres and two stops later, we got home. He asked me if I needed help getting to my door, but his foot was on the accelerator almost as soon as mine was in the puddle of bile Id just created outside his back door, and he sped off, all windows whirring down as he went.

And I came into the flat, after crawling up the three flights of stairs, and I collapsed on the bathroom floor, groaning, and then my stomach gurgled and some invsible bastard stuck a plunger down my throat, and for the next few hours – maybe five – it was all about the running back and forth from vertical to voluble and from exhaustive, leaden in every limb, to explosive from every. damn. orifice.

First every twenty minutes, and then less vomit, more sleep. But still vomit, and, you know, other.

Then there was mostly sleep, until the last round of the anna vs her innards at about 4am.

Then it was all sleep.

Until the postman arrived this afternoon.

I was already feeling a little better, but the postman brought a parcel – a completely mysterious and unexpected and unsigned and reasonless lovely lovely parcel of things from my wishlist – I assume from one of you.

I dont know who it was, but I think youre lovely, and generous, and you never could have known how good it would make me feel today, or how happy it made me.

Thank you, whoever you are.

[Sorry, I realise that was only a nice payoff for one person, and the rest of you just got to read about sicking and poo for a while, but to my mind thats just a good argument for the rest of you buying me presents for no reason. No, that does make sense. No, honestly, it does]